


Linked paths

by Lilac_the_wolf



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Child Abuse, First Meetings, M/M, Mycroft Being a Good Brother
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:54:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28841949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilac_the_wolf/pseuds/Lilac_the_wolf
Summary: Mycroft observes as his brother's and Moriarty's paths become intertwined through the years.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes & Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes/Jim Moriarty
Comments: 6
Kudos: 24





	Linked paths

Mycroft had never believed in fate. But when faced with it, he had to admit that a certain pre-determined link must indeed exist.

The first time he had seen fate set in motion, he was barely seven years old, and Sherlock had only been born a few hours ago. His father had dragged him out of the hospital room so that his mother could rest, and he knew that Sherlock had been brought to a nursery. It had taken him three minutes to escape from his father without him noticing, and one minute to get into the nursery. There was little light in the room but Mycroft quickly found his little brother. He was at the far end of the room, in a cradle identical to the other babies, except for his name written on the front. Mycroft grabbed a stool from a corner and climbed on it to get a better view of Sherlock. He was asleep. Mycroft leaned over the cradle and looked at his brother with a smile on his face. He would have liked to take him in his arms but he didn't want to wake him up. He looked at him for a few moments before he was turned away by a noise behind him. He turned around. The baby in the cradle next to Sherlock's had just woken up. If he started crying he might attract the attention of a nurse. Mycroft looked at the baby. He was awake but seemed perfectly calm. He stared at him with two black eyes, with an intensity that was a little disturbing for such a young baby. Mycroft looked away and jumped off the stool. He felt it was time for him to leave. He took one last look at Sherlock, before heading for the exit. Before leaving, he stopped for a moment in front of the other baby's cradle, reading the name : 'James Moriarty'.

He didn't really know why, but he remembered the name, engraving it in his mind, but without thinking about it. He didn't think about it again until two years later. Mycroft was only nine years old, but his parents thought he was mature enough to go out on his own with his brother. So he never lost an opportunity to do so. On that very day he had dragged his brother to the park despite his protests, and was pushing him on the swing. Sherlock didn't express his enthusiasm by shouting like the other children, but Mycroft knew that if he wasn't having fun he would have tried to leave a long time ago. As he continued to push his brother, Mycroft watched the other visitors in the park. There were two old ladies sitting on a bench behind him, and a little boy sitting beside a tree not far away. The little boy, who must have been about the same age as Sherlock, was having fun pushing a snail with a stick. Well, Mycroft assumed he was having fun, because he wasn't smiling. He assumed that his mother was one of the group of women who were chatting away without paying the slightest attention to their offspring. Suddenly the boy's behaviour changed. Whereas before he had gently pushed the snail, he had begun to hit it violently with the stick. The noise made Sherlock turn his head and Mycroft stopped the swing.

“What is he doing ?” Sherlock asked, looking at the other child.

Mycroft didn't answer. He took his brother in his arms as one of the women, the one with the most luxurious clothes and sunglasses, rushed towards the little boy.

“James !” she shouted angrily. “What are you doing ?”

The child paid no attention to her so she grabbed him by his collar and ripped the stick out of his hands. While the child was struggling, his mother hit him violently with the stick. Sherlock looked at the scene with a confused look on his face and Mycroft held him a little tighter. He wanted to intervene. But it would put his little brother in danger. And no adult seemed to want to intervene. The woman dragged her son quickly out of the park, without letting go of the stick. Mycroft didn't want to imagine what she was going to do to him.

“Did you see that ?”

Mycroft turned over slightly. One of the two old ladies had leaned towards the other.

“Yes, I saw,” replied the other. “Who is this madwoman ?”

“It's Mrs. Moriarty, the wife of a big businessman,” replied the other. “Have you seen her sunglasses ?”

Mycroft stopped listening to what they were saying. James. Moriarty. He knew that name. He was the baby who was next to Sherlock in the nursery. It was a funny coincidence that they should run into him again, Mycroft thought, without suspecting the deeper implications.

“Mycroft ?” said Sherlock.

Mycroft looked at his little brother.

“Why did the lady do that ?” he asked.

“Some people are unhappy, so they try to make those around them unhappy too, by hurting them,” Mycroft replied.

Sherlock seemed to understand. He turned his head towards the exit of the park.

“Poor boy...” he whispered.

Mycroft did not hear from James Moriarty for several years. Three years to be precise. As Sherlock was finishing kindergarten, they moved away, and Mycroft was asked to take his brother to his first year of primary school. The school was full of parents and children who were more or less terrified. Mycroft made his way through the crowd and soon found the coat rack with his brother's name on it.

“Give me your coat, Sherlock,” Mycroft asked.

His little brother sighed, took off his coat and put it on the coat stand himself before looking at his brother looking bored.

“I don't need to go to school. I'm not going to learn anything here,” he complained.

“It's important that you learn to socialise with other children,” recited Mycroft as his parents had told him to do. “For example, you can become friends with your coat rack neighbour.”

Mycroft looked right at the name next to Sherlock's name. And remained frozen. He knew the name that was displayed: 'James Moriarty'. The coincidence was getting stranger and stranger.

“James Moriarty,” said Sherlock. “You see, I can read, I don't need to go to school.”

Mycroft didn't protest, too busy scanning the crowd with his eyes. He quickly found the one he was looking for. The dark-haired, dark-eyed boy was alone, by the courtyard windows, staring into the void.

“Sherlock,” said Mycroft, “go see him, it's James.”

And he pointed at the other child. Sherlock looked at him with a surprised look on his face.

“How do you know that ?” he asked.

“Because I know everything,” replied Mycroft with a smile. “Now go on.”

Sherlock hesitated for a moment, then he walked towards James. The latter looked surprised as he approached him. He wasn't expecting anyone to come and talk to him. Mycroft couldn't hear what they were saying, but he soon saw them both smiling. Mycroft looked at them for a moment and then he turned around. Sherlock didn't need him anymore.

From that moment on, he only heard of James Moriarty all the time. Or rather Jim, as Sherlock called him. Their parents were never at home, so Sherlock took the opportunity to skip school often and come to their house with Jim. Mycroft didn't dare tell him anything, because his brother looked so happy every time he was there. When he asked Jim why their teacher let them go like that, he just answered with a big smile that he knew how to be convincing. Mycroft didn't like Jim. Or in any case, Jim made him really uncomfortable. But he didn't say anything, because Sherlock was happy. And when he thought about it, it was a mistake.

Mycroft was a little jealous that his brother spent more time with Jim than with him. It was for this reason that he didn't notice that he wasn't the only one being eaten away by jealousy. Two years went by and the tragedy happened. Eurus had had enough of his brother not playing with her anymore. But she couldn't reach Jim, so she went after the other little boy, with whom Sherlock had only been playing for a few months. Victor died, Eurus was separated from her family, and they left far away overnight, leaving no address for anyone or saying goodbye. Sherlock was traumatised and his memory became confused. He forgot Eurus completely. And he completely forgot Jim.

Mycroft thought this was probably the last he would hear of James Moriarty. And for a long time he thought he was right. Then many years later the name Moriarty resurfaced. At the head of a criminal empire. As his brother began to get more and more comfortable in his role as a detective. Their meeting was inevitable.

And it arrived. Sherlock didn't remember him at all, but Moriarty must have remembered, he couldn't have forgotten. Yet he said nothing. Various events happened, and Moriarty was eventually captured. Mycroft tried to get him to say that he had known Sherlock for a long time, but he ignored him, answering his questions with questions about Sherlock. And Mycroft found himself answering him, without always getting something in return. Mycroft often came back to question him, because he felt that Moriarty had a right to know all about Sherlock, and he also knew that as long as he was talking to him, he wasn't being tortured.

Of course, he realised that it was a mistake, when his brother found himself with Moriarty on the roof of a building. He never knew what they said to each other that day. But the fact was that the snipers and Moriarty suddenly disappeared and his brother came down safe and sound, as if nothing had happened.

The next day Mycroft went to Baker Street to talk to his brother. Sherlock was sitting in his armchair as usual and rolled his eyes when he saw him arrive.

“I'm busy, I don't have time to deal with any of your cases,” Sherlock said.

“I'm not here for a case,” said Mycroft, sitting across from his brother.

Sherlock sighed.

“I'm here to talk to you about James Moriarty.”

“This matter is settled,” Sherlock replied.

And before his brother could say anything, he added:

“And no, I'm not going to tell you how.”

“Do you love him ?”

Sherlock looked at his brother with a surprised look on his face. He was not expecting this question.

“What ?” he said.

“I asked you if you love him,” Mycroft repeated patiently.

Sherlock stared at him silently for a moment. He thought about whether he should confess or deny everything.

“What makes you think that ?” Sherlock asked.

He was trying to stall for time. So Mycroft didn't answer. Sherlock avoided his gaze.

“So what ?” he finally said aggressively. “I have the right to love who I want.”

“I just wanted to check,” Mycroft simply replied while standing up.

“Are you already leaving ?”

Sherlock looked surprised.

“You've just told me what I wanted to know,” said Mycroft as he headed for the exit.

“Why aren't you surprised ?” asked Sherlock.

Mycroft stopped and looked at his brother.

“Because it was bound to happen one day,” he said.

“Why ?”

“Because it's fate.”

And before his brother had time to answer or ask for an explanation, Mycroft walked out of the flat, then out of the building, just to come face to face with Moriarty.

“You haven't told him, have you ?” Moriarty asked.

He didn't need to specify what he was talking about.

“No, I didn't.”

“And you're not going to tell him.”

It sounded like a threat, because it was.

“I won't say anything,” said Mycroft.

“"Good. You and I are the only ones who know, I'd really appreciate it if it stayed that way,” Moriarty said, looking him straight in the eye.

“I know more than you, Mr. Moriarty,” said Mycroft with a small smile.

Moriarty frowned.

“What ?”

But Mycroft didn't answer him, walking away. Moriarty didn't try to stop him. After a few meters, Mycroft looked back just in time to see Moriarty enter the building. He knew he couldn't stop him from being close to his brother, the universe would never let him. He raised his head to the window of the Baker Street living room. His brother was no longer sitting in his chair. Mycroft turned away and hurried off. He didn't want to know what they were doing. He just wanted to know that now, his brother was happy.

**Author's Note:**

> It's a little bit different from the things I write usually, but I hope you enjoyed it !  
> As usual, feel free to leave comments :)


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